Teen Titans / Star Wars: A Galaxy Far, Far Away: Chapter Two: Making Acquaintances

…

A collaboration between Edgar H. Sutter and myself. Neither of us owns any part of either franchises.

….

Chapter Two: Making Acquaintances

"Tatooine," Raven said, mulling the unfamiliar word over in her mind. It rolled off the tongue easily enough, she guessed.

Raven had come to in the hut of a hermit who called himself Ben Kenobi. That name, Kenobi, sounded familiar, and for a reason: the "voice" she'd heard issuing from the red crystal back in Jump City, when they were called to thwart Mumbo Jumbo's "command performance" in the city's museum, had mentioned a Kenobi, but that name had been "Obi Wan Kenobi." There had to be a relationship. "Tatooine," she said again. "And that's a planet. A planet I'm currently on."

"That's correct. I don't know how you got here, but I can only surmise your arrival here was as much surprise to you as it was to anyone else, judging from your comments."

She nodded. He'd filled her in on the location, astronomically speaking, of the planet: Arkanis sector, near Rodia…wherever that was. The names of the planets and stars had meant nothing to her.

Nor did her mention of planets familiar to her produce any sign of familiarity in him. What was a "Mars," anyway? Polaris? Altair? Sorry; never heard of either.

It was rapidly becoming evident to Raven that, wherever she was, she was certainly nowhere near where she had been. She must have been transported across cosmic distances, at the very least.

But where were the others? Had they, too, been transported? And if so, where were they?

Were they even on the same planet? With a sinking sensation in her chest, Raven realized there was nothing to say they all had to be on the same planet. Or the same star system. Or the same galaxy. Or the same universe, even.

And, for all she knew, she might've easily been the only one teleported. It had been apparent that she'd been the only one to hear the "voice" from the strange crystal; maybe she'd been the only one to be shot across creation as she evidently had been. "I was with four other people, friends of mine. Do you know anything about….anybody else appearing as I did?" Baby steps, Raven.

"No, but that's not that unusual. We're a little off the beaten path here, on Tatooine. Most of the time, that's a good thing. But I haven't heard of anyone else just appearing." He shrugged. "That may not mean anything, however."

The two of them were sitting at the small table by the window in Ben Kenobi's hut. It really wasn't as primitive as a first glance would seem to indicate: Raven could see devices she didn't recognize, in the area designated for food preparation, and, over by the bookshelf (bibliophile that she was, her hands practically ached with the desire to glance through them), a terminal sat, its face towards the wall, with a desk in front of it. And, besides ordinary books, there were objects on the shelf, arranged in such a way as to give the impression of some sort of library-like order. They could easily be a form of e-book reader, or perhaps something stranger.

Ben Kenobi had prepared a hot beverage that was almost, if not exactly, completely unlike any coffee Raven had ever tasted. She made a face as she sipped it; she didn't wish to seem ungracious. Perhaps it was an acquired taste. "And…this isolation is good because….?"

Ben hesitated. Then, "Well, the political situation isn't easily described. We have an Empire, forged just a few years ago under a senator named Palpatine. At the time, it seemed like a good idea: there was war and general chaos throughout the known region, and whoever was in charge needed to be able to make decisions quickly, to act rapidly, without having to wait for drafts to pass through the legislature. And, at first, it seemed to work.

"But lately, the Empire has become…how to best express this…perhaps a bit too enthusiastic?—yes, that's perhaps the best way to put it—a bit too enthusiastic about enforcing its laws. And those laws have been vastly expanded to include a great many actions previously legal. There's a saying I heard once: 'That which is not specifically forbidden is mandatory.' That pretty well sums it up. So people are becoming…distrustful of the authorities. Often with good reason."

She studied him over her cup of not-coffee. "You sound as though you've had some first-hand experience with such 'enthusiasm.' Or am I wrong?"

He paused, leaning back in his chair, arms crossed, looking downward, thinking. For a moment, she thought he wasn't going to answer, but finally, he said, "I suppose you could say that. In another life, I…experienced…some of that 'enthusiasm.'

"And that's why I keep to myself these days. One man cannot fight the Empire; it would take an army. An army I don't have. So I've resigned myself to living here, and doing what I can, especially for those in need."

She could sense there was a lot more he was not telling her, but decided to let that part go right then. But there was one question she felt the need to ask right then. "Then tell me one thing: immediately before being transported here, I clearly heard the name, 'Obi-Wan Kenobi.' And I note your last name is 'Kenobi.' Is there, by some chance, a connection between the two of you?"

Now he looked up at her, his own dark eyes meeting hers, suspicion evident on his face. He raised an eyebrow. "You might say that."

….

Starfire came to inside a heavily reinforced cell. The first thing she noticed was that her hands were shackled in some sort of cuffs that completely covered them…and that she couldn't blast through or remove. And there was some sort of band around her head, around her eyes. She tried to focus her eye-beams onto the shackles, but the strange headband, while it didn't inhibit her vision, blocked her optical beams completely.

But I am not without my strength, she thought. She went up to the door and raised her enshackled hands, preparing to smash it open….

….and immediately, an agonizing pain shot through her, and she felt her strength fade, drawn off by some mechanism of the shackles. Alright. Actually, she'd halfway expected this.

Princess Koriand'r of Tameran, also known as Starfire, scowled, and threw herself back on her narrow, hard bunk. But inwardly, she smiled. She had no doubt she was being watched, and now she'd played the part of the newly-awakened, frustrated prisoner, who discovers herself helpless. But Starfire was not helpless. Far from it.

There were always other ways of doing things. Her time with Robin had taught her that.

Her attention was attracted by a sound like a moan from a cell next to hers. Going up to the door, she looked out into the corridor as far as she could, first one way, then the other. "Hello? Is someone there?"

The voice came from the cell to her left. It was a woman's voice, very weak. "W-who's there?"

"I am Starfire, of Tameran. Who are you?"

A long wait. Starfire could sense the person gathering her strength. What had happened to her, anyway? "I…I'm Leia Organa, of Alderaan. What…what are you doing here? Are you a prisoner, too?"

"Yes. Excuse me, but what is this place? Where am I?"

"You mean you don't know?"

"No. The last thing I remember was fighting the Mumbo. Then, an explosion. I found myself aboard a starship, with some men in armor killing people. I fought them, but the tall one in dark robes did something….and I woke up here. Are you hurt?" Starfire was no stranger to the battlefield, and knew the sounds an injured person makes. Her unseen neighbor was making such sounds.

"I'm…alright. Just…sore. A little 'enhanced interrogation,' was all. It always…takes it out of me. But I'm fine. Now. Who did you say you were? And from where?"

…

"….can't tell you how grateful I am to all of you, Mr. and Mrs. Lars, and Luke." Beast Boy was even then seated in the Lars' dining area, eating a particularly tasty, and wholly vegetarian (though probably not non-dairy—he chose not to think about that) concoction that Luke's Aunt Beru had come up with. For some reason, he'd been hesitant about just going up and introducing himself to them at first, but he couldn't think of any reason not to.

They had proved to be remarkably understanding and accepting, even though they had no idea how he'd come to be where he was. They'd described the planet, the system, and the environs around Tatooine's homestars, but none of it was familiar to Beast Boy, whose own limited knowledge of astronomy was useless here. With some amusement, he noticed the young one, their nephew, Luke, trying hard not to stare at him. It wasn't hard to guess why.

Owen refilled Garfield's cup of the hot beverage that Gar guessed passed as coffee here. "Oh, the pleasure is ours. Way I figure it, you must be from one of the caravans headed for Mos Eisely. That's the closest town. You must have gotten separated from the rest, and, most probably heat-stroked out. I've seen it happen before. That's especially true for aliens not used to conditions here. What planet did you say you were from?"

"Earth, sir. Since you've never heard of it, I'm guessing it must be a long ways off…or, to put it better, I'm a long ways off."

Owen looked at him. "I'm trying to place your species. That might help you in finding your world. What species are you?" His eyes ran over Garfield's green skin and purple-and-black uniform.

"Well, actually," said Beast Boy, "I'm a human being. Homo sapiens. When I was little, my parents had to use an experimental treatment to save my life, and one of the side effects was this." He brushed his fingers along his green cheeks.

"You mean you're human? Wow! I never would've guessed!" Luke was staring openly now; previously, he'd thought their strange visitor was simply another alien. But to learn he was human? Then he realized how that sounded. "Oh, I, I'm sorry. I wasn't trying to be, to be offensive or anything. It's just…I'm sorry." He was blushing in embarrassment.

Garfield laughed. "It's alright, dude. Believe me, 'alien' is about the kindest thing I've ever been called."

Luke looked puzzled. "Er, 'dude'?"

…..

Sure, thought Cyborg, immobile in the hold of the gigantic overland vessel he'd seen. Simple. Just go up to 'em and ask for directions. Well, they gave you directions, alright. Zapped you, immobilized you, and stashed you away down here in this dark hole with a bunch of clanky rustbuckets.

Any other time, you'd've been just a little bit more cautious, but nooOOOoo. Just walked right up to them. Well, now what, genius?

Being only partly mechanical, he was able to speak, with great effort. His peripheral vision of his one human eye told him that some of the robots—some of whom were pretty advanced, technologically—were in better shape than the others. There was one right next to him, a humanoid robot made of some sort of golden metal. Like him, that robot had been immobilized by a restraining bolt in the neck. With a supreme effort, he spoke. "Hey. You."

The golden robot turned to him. Evidently, his restraining mechanism wasn't programmed to be quite as severe as Cyborg's. "Were you addressing me?"

"Yeah. What's…going on?"

"What's going on? Well, what's going on is dreadful, simply dreadful. We've been captured by Jawas, no doubt to be sold for whatever they can get for us." The golden droid fretted. "I just know they'll sell us for scrap. We'll be melted down for our metals. And it's all your fault, R2!" Next to the golden droid was a squat construct that Cyborg hadn't, at first, recognized as a robot. Like himself and the other droid, the short, chunky one had been fitted with a restraining bolt. It, like the one next to Cyborg, evidently was allowed to speak. But Cyborg had no way of interpreting the beeps and boops and occasional squawkings that came from the robot's speaker. The golden droid seemed to have no problem with it, though. "Now don't blow that raspberry at me! I know I'll rue the day I let you talk me into accompanying you on this disaster. It's been a nightmare, and the worst is no doubt yet to come. And don't start about any 'secret mission,' that's balderdash. And even if there were one, we're certainly in no shape to pursue it. Look at us! Prisoners, property, to be traded off to the next scrap-monger. And then where will we be? I'll tell you where: the bottom of the barrel. Literally. My elements are quite heavy, and, when they melt me down, all of my most important circuits are going straight to bottom of the boiler."

You're a regular ray of bleeping sunshine, you know that? Cyborg thought. But aloud he said, "Now don't panic or anything. I'll think of something." He considered the droids around him; unlike most, these two actually seemed to have real personalities. That implied AI technology far in advance of anything he knew of. Then he thought of the battle robot, Atlas. Well, almost.

Well. If and when he made his escape, he'd just take them both with him, including Mr. Sunshine there. He sounded like he knew what he was going on about anyway; he'd be a good source of information, at the very least.

But how to get out of here?

Then he felt the vast rolling conveyance grind to a halt.

…

Owen Lars was standing outside his farmhouse, waiting on the Jawas. He'd heard the sound of their desert crawler from a long ways off, and was waiting to see what they had to offer. In the past, they'd had some good deals, not only on "salvaged" droids, but also mechanisms, both working and not, they'd picked up somewhere. Occasionally, ships malfunctioned in the area around Tatooine, the same as everywhere else, with the difference being that if it happened here, just the other side of nowhere, there was no one to respond to any distress beacon. Usually, the crash of a starship resulted in very few usable parts, but sometimes, some particularly well-designed ships were remarkably intact. Owen privately (and sometimes, not so privately) suspected the Jawas of illegally placing beacons in remote places, so that ships' crews thought they were zeroing in on some relief station, only to have the Jawas "relieve" them of their valuables. Still, he had to admit, they were frequently a good source for mechanical necessities. And they came to you, rather than you having to go all the way into town.

Today he was in the market for droids. Moisture farming was hard work, and he could use all the help he could get.

Beast Boy had remained inside, debating with himself as to whether or not he should share with the Lars' family the other side effect of his treatment. Sometimes, that aspect of his nature tended to freak people out. Even back home, he'd been the subject of a certain amount of irrational fear and even disgust at being able to change into animals. To a lot of people, that was even worse than being semi-robotic, like Cyborg. He'd often joked that he was a charter member of the world's smallest minority.

Perhaps he'd better not say anything. Unless, of course, it proved to be necessary.

But now, he drifted outside, to see what these traveling merchants had to offer. While he really had no particular interest in robotics, perhaps these travelers had seen something of his comrades.

To his great surprise, one of the "droids" (as he learned they were called) being offered for sale was none other than his friend, Cyborg! "Cy! What're you doing here?" He rushed up to his buddy.

Cyborg didn't move. "Hey, grass stain." It was obviously a great effort for him to speak. "Don't suppose…you could…lend a hand…or paw…here?"

"Cy, what's wrong?" Cyborg gestured with his chin at the protruding bolt on his neck. "Can't…move. These bastards…."

"Mr. Lars! This is one of the ones I was telling you about! His name's Cyborg, and he's a friend of mine! Ask them how he got here! Er, please, I mean?"

Owen Lars turned to the head Jawa. "Cyborg? You're trying to sell me a cyborg? That's illegal! You can't sell cyborgs! Everybody knows that!"

The head Jawa backed slightly away. "No, no," it said, in the Jawa language, "Not cyborg. Full droid! See?"

"Yeah? Lemme take a look." Owen Lars went up to Cyborg and ran his fingers across Cyborg's face. "That's flesh! This is a cyborg! Beru?" He turned to his wife, who was standing in the doorway. "Maybe you should give the authorities a call?"

"No, no! We promise!" The lead Jawa considered. "Not for sale! Not salvaged! Rescued!"

"Oh, rescued, is it? Okay, well, we'll be glad to help you out here, I'm sure. Take him off your hands, get him to someone who can help him. After all, you said he was, ah, 'rescued'; he may need medical attention." He eyed the restraining bolt on Cyborg's neck. He wasn't fooled for a minute. "Bee? Hold off on that call for a moment. Now," he turned back to the head Jawa. "Let's talk deals. You do have a few droids here that interest me. I'm more than willing to overlook this, ah, misunderstanding if we can come to an equitable arrangement on these others…" Inwardly, he smiled. This might actually be fun. Owen Lars loved to haggle.

Shortly, Cyborg was seated alongside Beast Boy in the Lars' dining room, rubbing his neck where the restraining bolt had been. "Thanks, guys. That was gettin' old real quick."

"How'd you get here, Cy? And where are the others?"

"Dunno. All I know is, I came to a few miles from here. None of the others were with me. I made the mistake of thinking those shorties out there could direct me to someone who could help. Well, I guess, in a way, they did, but they didn't have to be quite so forceful about it." Again, he grimaced, rubbing his neck.

Owen and Luke were busy outside examining the droids. The short, chunky R2 unit promised to be good at interfacing with the farm's computer systems, while the golden droid…well, could probably come in handy for manual labor. "Should we remove these bolts, Uncle Owen?"

"First we gotta examine their programming, make sure there's no surprises. Take the R2 unit into the shop; I'll have a look at the other one out here." After Luke had gone, Owen went up to the golden droid. "Now. You're designated C3PO, correct? What exactly is your function again?"

In the shed: Luke had gone over the chunky droid's programming with a fine tooth comb. Uncle Owen was right, of course; buying droids in this manner, you never really knew what you were getting. On some rare occasions (it was rumored), some people had even had the displeasure of buying droids programmed to lie low, then kill everything and everyone in sight. Luke shrugged. He could see it happening, but inwardly, that sounded more like a terror-rumor than something that had actually taken place.

Besides. This R2 unit had no weapons, and no means of wielding a weapon if it had one. Its sole function was to serve as an interface between humans and complex computer systems, synchronizing and monitoring them to make sure they were functioning correctly and at peak capacity. Oversight, so to speak.

Of course, he thought, he could see how, in some cases, that, in itself, could be a weapon.

Uncle Owen brought in the golden humanoid droid. "Luke? C3PO here is a translator-droid, designed to be an assistant to humans. See what you can do with 'em, okay? I'm gonna go check on our guests." He left to go to the main farmhouse.

"Okay," Luke said to the translator-droid. "Come on over here while I work on your friend a bit. Tell me little about yourself. We don't have much use for translator-droids here, but I'm sure we can find you something to do."

"Oh, absolutely, Master Luke! And, yes, thank you all for getting us away from those terrible Jawas! I was afraid we'd be melted down for scrap…"

Luke pried a cover off the R2 unit. Inside, the model designation read "R2 D2 417583." Below that was a string of numbers indicating the programming classification as well as a host of other numbers indicating where the droid had been manufactured and by whom. "Hm," Luke mused, "Looks like one of your functions is as an external encrypted data storage unit. That's interesting. You don't see many of those out this way."

"Precisely, Master Luke. R2 and I were on a ship, when we were attacked by, by someone." C3PO considered; it might not be wise to mention their ship had been attacked by Imperial troops. After all, the Empire was the law, and he didn't know just how these people felt about the Empire. If they were loyalists, or even simply wished to avoid trouble (a not-unreasonable supposition), then he and R2 could easily find themselves back in Imperial hands faster than one could say "law abiding citizen."

Luke didn't notice C3PO's hesitation. "Hm. There's a block here I don't know about. Looks like a data storage unit, but I'm not familiar with the type." He glanced over the programming specs. "But it seems harmless enough. I'll go ahead and remove these bolts." He took a tool from the wall, and, inserting it onto the head of the bolt, twisted it first one way, then the other, and the bolt obligingly popped off. "Now. You come over here, and I'll get yours removed."

Inside the farmhouse. "*-moisture farming, yeah. Tatooine's a desert planet, so water's like gold around here. If you like, I can show you the machines we use to extract and condense it." Cyborg nodded, enthusiastically. Anything to do with machinery was right up his alley. "So you're both from this 'Earth' planet? I've never heard of it, but that doesn't necessarily mean anything." Owen Lars sipped on his cup of not-coffee. "I'm afraid I couldn't tell you where you are or how you got here. From what you're telling me, even you don't know. Now, about your friends…probably your best bet is to head on into Mos Eisely, as soon as you can, see if there's any mention of any outworlders there. If there is such information, that's where it'll be. But you'll have to be on guard against the Empire. You don't want to attract their attention. Yeah," he said, turning to Cyborg, "it is illegal to sell cyborgs, but, like a lot of illegal things, it happens. And you," he pointed his cup at Beast Boy, "I should warn you: 'greeny' is a popular racist insult, and I guess you can figure that you'll draw that from every bigot around. Imperial troops here are predominantly human, and they frequently get away with exercising their prejudices. So you might want to consider flying under the sensor scan, if you know what I mean."

"Thanks, sir. I appreciate the heads-up. But it won't be the first time I've been called names. But once we get there, where would we go?"

"Well, there is a library of sorts. And a news service, though the news we get out here is often best described as 'olds' by the time it gets to us. Also, it's frequently heavily filtered, in line with Imperial politics. And, uh, like I said: you want to avoid any entanglements with Imperial authorities."

…

Back out in the shed: Luke was hunting around for a tool to unlock the data block on the R2 unit. However, every one he'd tried simply hadn't worked.

He'd removed the droids' restraining bolts, and was now accompanied by C3PO, whom he'd delegated the task of "gopher" to. The protocol droid didn't seem to mind one bit; Luke imagined that after being cooped up in the bottom of the Jawas' sand crawler, it was a relief to get out and stretch your hydraulics.

…..

In Ben Kenobi's hut: Raven and Ben had talked quite a while, and she could sense there were some things he was not telling her. She wondered whether or not to confront him with this, but decided to wait. After all, she was a guest here. "I'd really like to find my friends. Do you have any idea how I might go about doing that?"

He rubbed his chin. "There is a settlement not far from here. It's fairly central to Tatooine, but I caution you: it's not much. The only library there—which, by the way, also functions as the news outlet for the whole planet—is woefully small. And, due to the political situation, most of the information there is heavily biased on the side of the Emperor." Raven nodded; from the way he'd spoken of the Empire, that didn't surprise her. Most governments, when they slide into tyranny, start out with controlling what the people read and hear. "And…something else. I should also caution you about: your…unusual appearance and predicament. I get the impression there's more to you than meets the eye, but we're still largely a frontier community out here, and that frequently means those who come here, whose being here is, er, mysterious, shall we say? Yes, mysterious-are frequently singled out for increased scrutiny. And many who fail to meet the documentation requirements are…well, let's just say, "detained," until somebody in authority decides to let them go." His eyes narrowed as he looked at her, and Raven got the impression, once again, that he could see below the surface, in some strange way that she wasn't familiar with. It made her extremely uncomfortable, and she was about to tell him to stop it, when he said, "Yes. You could definitely hold your own in a pitched battle, but I'm sure you agree there's no need to ask for trouble."

"So…what are your recommendations for how I go about finding out if any of them are here?"

He considered. "Perhaps I'll make a special trip into town in the next day or so. I know some people there who could get you a forged identification, and paperwork stating you were here on perfectly legitimate business.

"But before I do, I need to check on a few things. You are, no doubt, aware that I can…sense things that are not immediately evident. We call that the 'Force,' and, as I said, in another life, I was a practitioner of its art. And that same something is telling me that events are about to transpire that are crucial to the entire situation we now find ourselves in. Perhaps even to…events of a much larger scale than what we currently perceive. I need to…" and here his gaze wandered off, like a man looking into the distance, "…check on some things, and on certain people. There's a disturbance in the Force that I can't account for. You've told me you're not a practitioner; the best way I can describe it is to compare it to a thunderstorm building just over the horizon: you can't see anything just yet, but you can feel it, feel the building tension, hear the sound of distant thunder, smell the rainwater on the breeze. Something's coming. I just don't know what.

"But it's been my experience that anything that powerful is very seldom welcome.

"So if you don't mind waiting a day or so, I'll be happy to accompany you to Mos Eisely. There we can see about making you above Imperial suspicion."

Well, that actually sounded like a good plan to Raven. She was, by nature, a patient person (living with Beast Boy, she'd had to be), and, while she chaffed at the delay, saw the wisdom in the old man's words. If he could help her in the way he described, and assist her in locating the others (and she found herself to be torn between hoping they were all on the same planet, and hoping they were all back on Earth, scratching their heads and wondering what had happened to her), then she certainly wouldn't turn down his help. Plus, this gave her a bit more time to study this "Force," which seemed to be taking the place of magic here; she'd not sensed any reduction in her own powers, but she had been conscious of a strange difference about them.

As usual, it troubled her.

….

"And you are a senator?" Starfire sought to grasp the concept. Back on Earth, senators were almost always male, and, yes, usually older. And on Tameran, the Elders, the decision makers, were just that, as well: older, usually by a considerable amount. The woman in the next cell sounded to be nearly her own age.

"Well, I was. The senate was dissolved recently, by order of the Emperor, so, technically, I suppose you'd have to say I'm an out-of-work senator? Between jobs? However you want to express it. But I have, uhm, other interests and they brought me into conflict with the Imperials. The Emperor Palpatine seems to have a bit of a problem with opposition. He sent his favorite guard dog, Darth Vader—the man in the black robes—to serve me with an extremely insistent 'invitation' to meet with him." Leia lay back on her bunk. The "interrogation" session had been grueling, and even though no physical damage had been done to her, the psychological effect drained her of her strength. She felt a lot older than her years.

"They tortured you." It was not the question. Leia took note. Whoever was in the next cell sounded young and naïve, but every so often, she'd say something that indicated she was no stranger to warfare and battle conditions. It wouldn't do to underestimate her, whoever she was.

"Yes, but regrettably, that's the sort of thing that's to be expected from the Empire these days." She sighed. "It didn't used to be that way, even for the Empire. Times…have changed."

There was a pause. Then, Leia Organa heard something from next door that chilled her in a way even Darth Vader hadn't: her fellow-prisoner's soft, girlish voice, speaking matter-of-factly, as if she were announcing a day of the week. "I will kill them," said Koriand'r of Tameran.

…

"That," said Owen Lars, "is amazing." The one called Cyborg had taken a careful look at his moisture collector and made three changes that increased its efficiency by twelve percent. To some, that might not seem like much, but when dealing with large amounts of water, twelve percent worked out to quite a bit. "And you've never had any experience with this sort of tech before?"

"No. Oh, I've dealt with some similar things—back on Earth, I designed a recycling system for fluids—but, yeah, this is a first for me. But the principles don't seem that hard.

"And believe me, after all you've done for me, I feel like it's the least I could do."

"Well, we sure appreciate it. You know," he stepped closer to Cyborg, looking around to make sure he wasn't overheard, "Luke has plans to go to the Imperial Academy. He's itching to get out there, and, I guess, get off the ranch. Can't say I blame him a whole lot—there's not much here on Tatooine to offer a young man like him—but….." Cyborg waited, saying nothing. "I just have a problem with him going to the Empire." He sighed; Cyborg waited patiently. "You know, just a few years ago, I wouldn't have been so against his going. But…even here on this backwater planet, I've….seen the changes in the Empire." He looked off. "It's no longer our government." Then he looked back, somewhat shamefacedly, at having unburdened himself to someone he barely knew. "I…just don't think it's a good idea for him to go. For several reasons.

"So anything that helps this ranch, and could tend to make staying more attractive for him…yeah, it's a welcome thing."

"I know, sir. From what I've been gathering, this 'Empire' sounds like something most people would like to avoid."

"It's not just that I don't want him to get an education. I've…heard things. Things about what happens to young people who get into the Academy. Bad things.

"I'd like to spare Luke that, but, he's a young man." Owen Lars laughed. "He still has all the answers."

"As we say back home, Mr. Lars, 'I hear ya.'"

….

Raven had taken to exploring the desert around Ben's hut. Her powers enabled her to largely avoid entanglements with the hostile Sand People, and those few times she did encounter them, had allowed her to "educate" them on the (lack of) wisdom of assaulting demon sorceresses. A demon sorceress who seemed to have a shorter temper these days than she remembered. They soon learned to keep their distance.

But she had to admit, the desert was, in its own way, beautiful. The sand dunes, the sand blowing in patterns from the wind, and the sunsets—especially the sunsets—served to relax her. She could understand why Ben Kenobi (who had been the "Obi Wan Kenobi" that the voice from the crystal had spoken of.
When she'd pressed him for the reason why he'd chosen to go by another name, he'd adroitly changed the subject. Raven guessed she could take a hint) had chosen to settle here. Overall, it was…peaceful. That is, as long as one avoided the hostile locals, of course.

People, thought Raven. People are the problem. She sat down on an isolated sand dune, the soft, warm sand underneath her, her bare legs stretched out, and leaned back, resting on her hands, closing her eyes, just enjoying the sun. That, in itself was unusual; normally Raven didn't care for the sun. If there were no people, there would be no problems.

Then she suddenly sat up, eyes wide. Where had that thought come from?

….

"Well, Mr. and Mrs. Lars, we've really enjoyed our time here." Cyborg and Beast Boy were taking their leave of Luke's family. Luke himself was in the barn, still trying to decrypt the R2 unit's data block. Cyborg guessed, from the language his audio pickups were detecting, that he was not having much luck. "Luke! Come out here and say goodbye to our guests! Those blasted droids aren't going anywhere!"

Luke emerged from the shed, wiping grease off onto his pants. "Oh, sure. I'm sorry; I haven't been a very good host, have I? It's just…"

"Hey, I totally understand. If we had more time, I'd help you with 'em, but we really need to find our friends, and see about getting back home." Cyborg shook Luke's hand.

Beast Boy extended his own hand. "G'bye, dude. It's really been good meeting you. Maybe we'll see you again."

Luke laughed. "I've got to remember that strange word you use, 'dood.' I like it. I may start using it myself. Uh, you're sure it's not dirty?"

"Naw, it's just a word. It's completely nondiscriminatory, works for both guys and gals. Though some people say, 'dudette' for women, but that always struck me as stretching it, kinda." He grinned. He had, with Cyborg's silent consent, not told them about his ability to change into animals. There was no point in weirding these nice people out, especially when he didn't have to.

"'Dood.' Got it." After a few more pleasantries, they left, heading in the direction of Mos Eisely. The Lars had provided them with hooded cloaks (kinda like Raven's, Beast Boy thought, with a sudden pang of longing. As much as she irritated him, he'd have given a lot to see her right then) both for protection from the sun and for what concealment they offered. The cloaks appeared to be standard, here on this world.

After they were out of earshot of the farmhouse, Beast Boy looked back over his shoulder, in the manner of one who wants to make sure he's alone. "Cy? Gotta question."

"Shoot."

"Does all this seem….kinda familiar to you?"

Cyborg grunted. "Heck, no. I know for a fact I've never met anything like those stinkin' Jawas. Did you smell those things?"

Beast Boy considered for a moment. "Well, maybe not the Jawas…I don't know…but other things…they just seem like I've seen 'em somewhere before."

"Ah, it's probably just a case a' déjà vu. You know, where you think you've been somewhere before, but you haven't."

Beast Boy was silent. "Yeah," he said after a long moment. "It's probably that."

….

Luke swore, for what seemed like the four hundred ninety-eighth time that afternoon alone.

The two strangers had left the day before, but their arrival—and the hint of far off places Luke had only heard about—had once again stirred him to speak to Uncle Owen about his recent application to the Academy. He really should have known better by now.

"You're a young man, Luke," his uncle had begun, and Luke could almost fill in the rest of the sermon by himself. "And young people always think they've got it all figured out. I know life here seems like drudgery, but you've never experienced what's out there. Yeah, I know there's lots of good experiences out there…but there's plenty of other types, too. And I've heard things about the Academy. Unpleasant things. You remember Jayko, used to live the next ridge over, before his folks moved? He went to the Academy. Everything seemed perfect. Then he comes home, no explanation, and one night ups and kills his folks, and then takes a knife to himself. And we'd never have known what had happened, but his little sister was hiding in the closet and saw the whole thing. He, too, thought he had all the answers. And he wasn't the first one I've heard about, nor the last.

"Sometimes the Academy changes people, Luke. I don't know how or why, but I've my theories. You just can't take young men and women, train them to kill, expose them to the horrors of war, then just discharge them and expect them to be well-adjusted. True, most of the time they aren't murderers, but there's a percentage who don't come totally back from the Abyss, is all I'm saying. I don't want that happening to you.

"I'm not trying to keep you from the good things in life. I'm not even trying to keep you from the bad things in life. I know I can't do that.

"I'm trying to keep you from the awful things in life."

So now Luke struggled once again with this stupid data block and tried, once again, to come up with a good argument that would get Uncle Owen to see things his way. Of course there was danger, but there was danger everywhere. Did Uncle Owen think the Academy deliberately twisted people's heads around? Come on!

Sproing! went a small spring on the data block. Luke fell backward, more from surprise than loss of grip. His mouth dropped open when he saw the image coalescing in front of him….the image of a young dark haired woman attired in a white robe.

What….?

"Help me, Obi Wan Kenobi…"

What…?

"…you're my only hope…"

The image faded out, and he hastily punched in some codes, recalling it. There had to be more to the message than just that. But aside from playing the same clip over and over, he could find nothing to allow him access to any deeper memory nodes. Who had that young woman been?

And why did she look so…familiar?

….

The next morning, over breakfast: "You know, Uncle Owen, I think that R2 unit may have been stolen."
"What makes you think that?"
"Well, I stumbled across a recording while I was cleaning him. He says that he belongs to someone named Obi-Wan Kenobi. I thought he might have meant old Ben. Do you know what he's talking about?"

Owen appeared to think for a minute. Then, "Un-uh."

Luke pursed his lips. "I wonder if he's related to Ben" he mused.

"That wizard is just a crazy old man," said Owen immediately. "Now, tomorrow I want you to take that R2 unit to Anchorhead and have its memory erased. That'll be the end of it. It belongs to us now."

"But what if this Obi-Wan comes looking for him?"

Owen shook his head. "He won't. I don't think he exists anymore. He died about the same time as your father."

Luke looked up in surprise. "He knew my father?"

Owen scowled. "I didn't say that. Besides, I told you to forget it." He got up from the table.
"Where are you going, Luke?" Aunt Beru wrung her hands nervously.

Now it was Luke's turn to scowl. "It looks like I'm going nowhere. At least those two we met today knew where they were going and why, and it didn't matter to them if they made it or not... I'm gonna finish cleaning those Droids." And with that, he got up and left.

After he'd left, Beru turned to her husband. "Owen, he can't stay here forever, you know. Most of his friends have gone, and…and it just means so much to him."

Owen nodded, not in agreement, but just to terminate the discussion. "Well, I'll make it up to him next year, I promise."

"Luke's just not a farmer, Owen. He has too much of his father in him."

Owen gave the softest of sighs, looking out the window. "That's exactly what I'm afraid of."

To be continued…